


in her journey

by masamune11



Series: we are still human under these gold plates [2]
Category: Saint Seiya, 聖闘士星矢 Legend of Sanctuary | Saint Seiya: Legend of Sanctuary (2014)
Genre: Additional characters to be added later, Full spoiler to SS:LOS, Gen, Movie Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masamune11/pseuds/masamune11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanctuary had always imposed double standard to its female recruits. It never stopped her from advancing through the ranks though. Therefore, one could imagine the number of people who envied and belittled her in every turn, and, in turn, the number of people whom she beat without mercy.</p><p>Given the number of men (because the women always looked up to her in awe) she had beaten, it was a wonder that Aquarius Camus could hold up shoulder to shoulder with the nefarious Scorpio Milo.</p><p>(Of course, it was never like that in the beginning.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	in her journey

**Author's Note:**

> Given how Legend of Sanctuary turns out to be (well hello, who thought that Milo is a _woman_ halfway through the movie? Certainly not me), I just cannot resist the opportunity to explore the dynamics between her and, of course, our dear Aquarius Saint. So here you go, enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She did not like how that that sea-green eyes stared back at her like a specimen under observation. But she managed to study the boy more thoroughly, if only because the other party did so as well. If there was something that she could not bear to lose, it was a contest—and they were already locked in one awkward staring contest.

Milo never imagined life outside Heraklion.

For her, home had always been that city by the cove, with its vast beach and salty wind. Afterwards, it became the city where her passing family rested—a reminder of her robbed childhood when she witnessed their tragic end. There was nothing left for her there, except bitterness and loneliness.

Then the Pope came into her life.

When they first met, he introduced himself as kind, hermit old man who was in search of young people willing to do goodness in the world. He admitted to her that he had been watching her movement, believing that she had the potential to meet his high expectation. She had called him senile, back then, with grief-stricken words driven by the death of her last remaining relative. To assume that she even _wanted_ to join whatever crusade he offered, surely a street scum had more courtesy than this.

(No, street scums had neither that kind of sympathy nor the courtesy. It was purely rhetoric on her part.)

Shion only looked at her in sympathy told her that he would be around for another day, should she have a change of heart. The old man eventually left her without even telling where he would be.

So much for a recruitment attempt.

But his words echoed in her mind as her eyes wandered to the gravestone of his brother. Milo the boy, unlike her, had always wanted to get out of the city, preferring the quiet rural life. Some days she wondered if he did so simply because there would be less people to hear and chastise both of them.

(She would love to bring him to some other cities other than their home. Some days she wondered if he could survive in another city twice the size of Heraklion—and twice the bedlam. Both of them knew nothing of a big city’s hustle-bustle. The point of trying to visit this city, for her part, was to annoy the boy.

Now she could only weep in the irony of him not being able to visit even a quiet village across the sea.)

Milo would have wanted to take the offer, and she had decided to live for his sake. Perhaps it sounded like she was justifying her reason to leave, but she heard his whispers in the wind, urging her to go. For her, it was reason enough.

(She's not crazy; it's his voice that she heard in the night, a laughter so stunning it felt like he was standing next to her. She would never fail to recognize her brother’s voice; if he urged him to get out of the city because there was nothing else to hold her back, she would.)

* * *

It was through sheer luck that she managed to encounter the old man again.

The offer still stood, as he promised, when she met him at the dock of the city. Their boat was minutes away from departing when she voiced her acceptance to go. The old man welcomed her joyfully, though he did look at her questioningly, wondering what drove her to change her decision. But he withheld his words and proceeded to arrange for her accommodation to the ship captain, leaving her alone... with a suspicious boy who was surprisingly _his traveling companion._

(She would have asked the man first, but Shion, for an old-timer, was pretty quick on his feet.)

The young boy in particular was strikingly _different_ —and she did not particularly mean his weirdly green-dyed hair. There was a chilling vibe that the boy emitted, like a protective shield that stopped everything. Part of her wondered whether she would be frozen solid if she even tries to make contact.

Milo stared at him. He stared back.

She did not like how that that sea-green eyes stared back at her like a specimen under observation. But she managed to study the boy more thoroughly, if only because the other party did so as well. If there was something that she could not bear to lose, it was a contest—and they were already locked in one awkward staring contest.

His eyes were still locked at her, his whole body tensing (she learned to observe the gentlest shift in people's movement; it's a skill one needs to learn in order to survive the street—a skill that her brother taught her before his untimely death) as he tried to determine her.

(Perhaps there was something in her red eyes that piqued his interest.)

When she had enough of his eyes scanning up and down and _still remained soundless_ , the young girl let out an exasperated sigh and crossed her hands. "Are you freaking done?"

The young boy seemed genuinely surprised by her vehemence. Part of her mind wondered if it was because she was just _a girl_ , and there was no voice of reason at the back of her mind to contend with that assumption. The mere echo of his possible silent accusation already set something under her skin on fire, though not as much as the time when she had her first murder.

"...I did not mean to offend you, truly," he stammered in almost perfect Greek; almost, if not for the distinct French accent lacing his words. "Honestly, I never expected the old man Shion would recruit..." he stopped for a moment as his hands made some gestures as though it would make her better understand his intention.

If anything, his gestures made her wanting to punch him in the guts.

"You mean _a girl,_ " she growled back vehemently, her red eyes boring deeply into his stoic sea-green eyes. She never liked people who only see her and other women as such—just a girl/woman—as if the value of human is measured solely through one’s gender.

The boy did not flinch, which only furthered her wrath.

"A _gifted_ girl," he amended quickly as if he was trying to subdue the spark (but he did not know that he was only stoking fire). The air around him however shifted slightly, as if being pulled and compacted together as the temperature _dropped._ She could feel the air around him growing colder, as though a barrier of icy air separated her and him.

For one moment, her thoughts wandered back to the night when bloodlust ruled over her mind with iron fist—the heat that rushed within her that mingled with adrenaline as she took the lives of those who took her brother away. At the moment, she felt that feeling rushing back, like a reflex to protect her from danger.

She saw red, before the air suddenly turned back to normal, as if someone had superheated the air surrounding her. Only when she looked at his appalled face that she realized it was _her_ doing.

The shock quickly left his face; apparently he might have been trained to dispel any sort of reaction that could give away information to the other party (‘is he a street kid as well?’ she briefly wondered). “As I said, _Gifted,_ with capital G.”

But of course, he was with poor skill of flattery. “...Wait, you know about these things?!” she blurted. Never mind freaking out that she actually could do—whatever she did, really—she was more shocked that the boy actually had knowledge of such anomaly.

“Old man did not tell you the whole story, did he?” he chuckled lightly, the tenseness of his shoulder slowly faded, as if that one revelation (which she had no idea what that meant, anyway) was enough for him. His stance relaxed, and he did one thing that she never expected him to do: the young boy extended his hand—a sign of truce so that they may forget whatever wrong impressions he made in front of her.

“Please call me Camus. It’s a pleasure to meet you—”

Her fist connected to his jaw before he could finish his sentence, which earned her strings of colorful French curses as he struggled to stand straight. She still looked at him incredulously, as if he was the freak instead of her (because, really, he was freakier than her. That cold air was _controllable_ , she sensed).

“Alright. First, it’s not _nice_ to meet you, Camus. This one time I join someone and you’re babbling things as if you’re the almighty, I personally think you deserve that,” she scowled, the edge of her lips formed a frown as she looked at him judgmentally.

“Second, my name is Milo,” she glared at him despite the weight of her brother’s name (it became her name; she vowed to live for him), to which the boy glared back with equal intensity. “If I ever hear from you belittling words of how girls cannot do half of things that boys can, I swear the hit will be even worse than that.”

She huffed and turned away, clearly ignoring the fact that Camus kept his gaze steady, as though the hurt did not matter. She finally came to conclusion that she _definitely_ did not like how the boy stared at her… not one bit. If Shion had purposefully left both of them to their own device so that they could bond and be friends, then he thought wrong.

(But they ended up as best friends anyway. Of course she would not know this until much later, when she stood among other servants of Athena, with mature confidence and a kind of regality that a Scorpio saint must possess. While she admitted that her mentor was responsible for her personal confidence, she would never conceded that Camus’ icy was also responsible for the rest of it—an added icy collective regality in the midst of her fiery upbringing. Not vocally, at least. But that was another story altogether.)


End file.
